Long before this poet sangthe words of Israel rang throughto the West, where they were metwith praises—how men would come to know the plightof their wives came from Israel,its stories, its strains,its native tonguetelling them that wives were alwaysat fault, since that fateful day.

Long before this poet sanga man over oceans cried to makesomething that no one's eyes read before—a chance to tell the worldthe story behind the storyof Israel,a chance to tell the worldthat he (blinded) could seethe Muses of Homer, of Virgil,and make them his ownin a language much more vulgar—vulgar so that he couldfaithfully blame (yet again)the wives.

Long before this poet sanga woman rose from the slumberingbody of a man,a master who kept herunder him, who kept his arms taughtaround her moist flesh,keeping her down in bodyand mind.

This woman is hailedas the mother of all;this woman is condemnedas the damnation of us all—though what manin all his right mindcould damn his motherfor eternity?

When man wrote of manand womanhe made the cunning of the Temptersomethingthat was soft,weak,dying to be bolted downby the hands of man.

Though she had not been given a voice.

This poet—a man—now singsof such harshness,of such ease of temptationthrough any sort—especially that ofdemonic notions.

Not from His hands, but from yourrib He molded me and breathedinto me this sweetness ofliving with you.

His fingers sculpted my body(perhaps the least amazingand wondrous of Hishands' workings) to make itthis thing for you—frail,smooth,wide at the hipand soft at the breasts;locks of yellow streaming downover my too-pale shoulders.

You knew strangely how you wanted me:you lay there, helpless, nothing but slumber,numb,while I was made.

You awoke,stood back and lookedat this to wonderwhat, if who, itwould be—your servantor your equal ormoreand you knew that theonly way to find outif this form couldbe anything was ask Him to takethe imperative andmake it indicative.

When His breath swept my eyelidsand made them flicker open,I saw the heavens and Earthon your foreheadand sea and skyin your lips and eyes,which God gave to us—to mewho is now yours.

You gazed at me thinkingof what to make of this thing—an equal,a friend,a more;and in my first breathI smelled the airthat brushed over my face,through my thickswooping hair.

This is what life is.

You are what life is.

You grabbed my soft bony handsand took me as yourswhile God took His placeto watch us be.

GARDEN

You walked me aroundthis place, this lush greennessof desire and moreand more supple landsthat we take with our hands—in our mouths, to let it allcrunch in our teeth and we tastedthe waters of the crisp riversdown our throats,already drenchedwith loveliness.

The beasts crawled to our feetand the birds perched themselveson our shoulders,where you took themand lifted them up upthen we called to themwith names you madeand taught mewell.

You told me of things that you made,things that you saw that God madefor you.

I thought of nothing better.

Under trees we laid our heads,twisting them with the rootsuntil our thighssquirmed over each others.

You told me that all of thiswas ours—that you would let mereap this landwith you.

From atop the hill we couldsee the gateswhere God kept the nothings outwith His men, with theirwings and blades, handsclenched against thesands outside thatmake mortal throatsparched.We knew nothing of such nothings.

All we knew was the alivenessof this Garden.

BE

And then we went and bathed in the riverto forget that those guards were keeping something(about which we did not know)a secretuntil the sun pulled itselfdownand you grinned.

As night fellyoulay upon me,I was submitting my hows(I still don't understandhow Lilith could not wantto be covered by yourfirm body) before God andeverything else—how they (theothers) became envious(but there isno envyasenvyisa sin).

We took command of the landand of the beasts and birdsand nowfor oncefor alwaysyou commandedand my bodyobeyed.

The hushing sounds of theriver and the stiffnessof the ground beneathmade this such a bedfor two, for thousandsand for everything inthis place.

Above God could see usfirmly in each others armsand entangled in each othersthighs and all.

I'm certain that He gave usthe moon to light up your skinwhile we lay thereso that I could see your facewhen you were on me.

The stars are candlesthat kept our frigid bodies warmwith something other than ourbreath and sweat and hips.

We were only doing such thingsbecause God commanded.

TREE

You took me over the vast plainsof this place,through brush and under temperatesuns moons and stars.

It looks so familiar(“Did we sleep under it last night?I have seen this Tree beforeIt reminds me ofyour breath”).

Its bark smooth, unblemished,and waiting for us to seize itand take it.

I wantedto bite it, oddly enough (I can'tsay why), but I was afraidto seize it in my mouthas I saw velvet fruitin the curling branchesjostling in the windthat God blew over us.

It glistened and shimmeredas we waited for itsmoistness dripping succulantnessjust out of reach of ourachingtongues.

Our eyes grew as wideas the Fruit, watered more soand yearned for our teethto pierce that violet flesh (likea rose) but much more moist.

We knew it had to be ours.

We knew it had to be ours.

I knew it had to be mine.

COMMAND

Then God came down and His face burnedmine (yours was brighter thanHis, and you were leftunphased).

His voice boomed through the Garden.

The birds flew up to the heavensand the treesshook violently untiltheir leaves trembled In theechoes.

Simply then Adoshem looked at us—His creations, His children—to firmlytake His white hands to grasp thebark of the Tree.

He took a piece off, the crispingnoise echoing boldly throughthe Garden, and Hesniffed.

The fragrance made Himflutter His eyesand the Lord became one withthat Tree.

He took our shoulders in His armsand held us tightly—I feared Him but youlooked him in the eyesand smiled nervously and said“What do You command of us,Adoshem?”

He looked at you then at me (stillquivering) and said in His boomingness:“My likenesses, I bless you.I have given you everything youwould ever need, and you nowhave control over My Earthand for that I must admit that Iam pleased with you bothfor you have inherited My creationand made it your ownwith the beasts and the birdsand the lands and seasand plants and trees—all yours.

“You have even obeyed My command andI see at night when Ilook down upon you to seeyou within each other—I think you fruitfuland o! how you shall multiply!(though I reckon that you do not mindbecause I made it such a sweetnessfor you).

“But I must command just one more thing:I know that you of humanbreed can keep, as you are inthe likeness of MySelf.

“I will not tempt youwith the sweetness containedin the violet flesh,but most of allI wish not to tempt you with whatthis Fruit holds within its seedsand its core and itscrisp crisp fleshfor you cannot bear such thingsin this garden,My darlings.

“Does this fit In your mind?”

I was left without wordsbut you looked at Adoshemsaying, “Of course, my Lord.”

“Good.”

And He ascended into Heaven againthe beasts crawling back to us,the birds returning to the treesand the Garden left alone, as if Hewere never there.

SERPENT

The sun was hot that day.

The trees were all scaldedas the sun blazed downand our mouths were parched,aching for something to bathe our throats.

That Tree . . .

At least its shade was something Adoshemhad forgotten to forbid.

As we lay, the branches were cooling;so much so that I could feel the shiversrunning down our backs,though we lay in each other,waiting for the sunto fall and for the moonto rise and light up our nightfor lust.

Then lo!

A gliding so soft that only our skincould crawl as such,and when that hiss rang from the brancheso how did our fingers tremble!

The beast climbed down, a charming thing:

His grand chest out above us,his only feature—he walkednot on legs but seemed tofloatgracefullyon his long, emerald tail.

His skin gleaming (like the flesh of the Fruit;in fact, I could see the redness reflectedin his skin).

His tongue was smooth in his mouthand his eyes widered (like the Fruit)—I wondered how all this redcould be allowed in a landso green.

I saw him daringly move upto my mouth, his fangs drippingand his eyes widening—his tongue slipping in and outof his thin, hard mouth,pulsing.

His body became more taught.

My body became more tense.

I ached to scream,to wake you from your slumber,but I could not move,I could not speak.

He grasped tightertightertightertighter—

then let go.

I was left breathless.

I was left speechless.

I was left.

He slithered off of meand arose (again, so strangely)and stood over me;his eyes softenedand his fangs stopped dripping.

I crept up, looking to you(still sleeping),my body sitting up in the grass,now wet from my sweat.

My throat was parched.

“What do you want?”

He moved your head slowly aroundand opened his wide mouth—his voice was soft, yet harsh:

“My dear, I think notof what I want, for I know whatyou want.”

He laid those charmings on me again.I was trembling, puzzled.

“How do you mean?”

He strode up to the Treeand began to grasp it tightly(as he did me)and he slithered upupupover to a thick branch(as he did me).

“Sadly, I see you here,taking in all those wishesfrom God and Adam;and I know that youcannot bear to be submissive as such.”

My forehead crinkledand my heart raced—more than when he grasped meand stuck his tail within me.

He continued:“Dear, your time has comeand I know how you can graspall that they have.“They have more than you—you are a product, a making,the result of their needfor subordination.”

My voice came back to me.

“You lie!”

I bolted my head over to seeif you had awoken.

Nothing.

“I praise God, I adore Adambut I do not obey Adam—I am his equal,his wife.”

He slithered over that branchand came upon one pieceof the Fruit.

With his thick tailhe reached overandpluckeditfrom the branch,its ripping seeming toecho throughout the Garden.

Still, you did not even jostle.

“You adore Adam,but doyoulovehim?”

CASUS MEUS

“What is love?”

I had to know.

No word had ever crossed my lipsor mind.No such thing I had ever feltuttered from any mouth,God’s or Adam’s;but this Serpent thin unwarming lipsspouted such a word.

He smirked and looked at medeeply;his red eyes set on me, his visionsleaving my stomach churningyet my mind yearningto know of this feat of whichhe spoke.

You (still sleeping) did not hear a word.

The Serpent loosened his coilsfrom around the branch, his tail still graspedthe Fruit; then his head turned backand he began to slither downthe thick sturdy trunkuntil he was once again upabove the groundand his eyes were (once again)back in mine.

“Love” he began,“is what God does not want youto know of—love is what would keepAdamwith youand your bodyforever.”

I looked over at you, still sleeping.

How, I imagined, could you everleave me? leave this place?leave this Garden which we have madeour own?

“What is it?”

“It, my dear, is more thanis confined in the gatesof this Garden;it is far beyond any and allthings you know in this placeand it is what will keep Adambound to you forever.”

My eyes began to water—a phenomenon Adam nor I had seenin the Garden.

“Why would he not be bound to meforever? Why do you speak suchdespicable things? We rule over this Gardentogether—we obey Adoshemand keep this Garden for Him—we make the beasts oursand the flora is ours for our mouths;Adam tills the land for Adoshemand I keep him rested and fedso that God remains pleased with His creations.We are bound to this Garden;Adam is bound to me.”

The water on my face was warm—the salinity ran into my mouthand my breath became harsh,unsteady.

“He is bound to you in bodyand body alone—his labors are notfor your sake or his: they are for God’s.He does only what Adoshem tells him:he lies with you because Adoshem tells him to do so—for that and nothing more.But with this succulantness,he would be bound to you foreverand you would be bound to himin a manner beyond the confines of this Garden.”

“How do you know?”

“My dear, I know things of love,and this is a thing of love.”

He turned his head back to the branchwhere one ruby Fruit hungfrom the end and it dangledin the gentle breeze of the Garden—a drop of water trickled overthe thick ripe fleshand onto the grass below where itdisappeared.

I slowly put the Fruitup to my moistened lips,looked over at the Serpent,who moved his head towardyou.

I saw you there sleeping:your back still glisteningfrom your sweat, your bodymoving with each inhalation.

How badly I wanted to feel that breath.

I grazed my teeth against the fleshand slowly yet fiercelytook a sweetsuppledaringbite.

CASUS TUUS

The bite boomedthroughout the entire Garden;I would have leapt backfrom the shock, had it not beenfor the sweet delectable tastein my (now aching) mouth.

You startled awake upon hearing the flesh ripfrom inside my teeth.

Your head jolted upand your body flipped overletting the stiff grass pierce the still-moist skinon your back;your face agape and your mouthwide in fear;your eyes began to water(something still strange to me)and your eyebrows curved in—I had only seen them do as suchwhen you were on top of me.

Your eyes jolted over to the Serpent,still next to me;I looked over and saw himgrinning.

“Beast!” you cried,“I am to command youand Adoshem is to command me;thus any command given by Godis of all in this Garden!No one is to eat of the Fruit,Man or Beast!Adoshem will banish youfrom this place!”

The Serpent crept up to you,seemingly floating,until his face was almost against yours,and he stuck out his tongue;in his sly squirming he moved away,never taking his eyes off ofus.

With passion in body(not like the passion we hadthe night before) you swattedthe Fruit from my hand.It fell down to the Earthwith a THUD that boomedthroughout the Garden—still that booming was nothingcompared to your voiceas I looked down in shame:

“What unholy thing have you donein tasting the forbidden?How have you, my Partner,betrayed the trust of Adoshem—the One who gave us this placeand commanded so little of us?What were you in mind hopingto do with the Fruit?How could you let sucha diabolicalinsignificantbeast seduce youand tempt you to disobeythe command of Adoshem?”

Your voice was now aching to know;all signs of rage had passed.I sat down, my bare body now somewhat coveredby the grass below—strangely it felt right—and pulled you down with me;my face beaming as I grabbed you.

“You must know this feeling:I wish to be with youforever.”

You plopped down on the grasswith me, your face nowsomewhat calm.

“We would have been togetherforever,had you not doomed yourself withsuch disobedience.”

“But the confines of this Gardenare nothing to me now;I want to be with youwhether or not our bodieslie in these gates—I wish only to be with youin this feeling—this love.”

You looked at meand then at the Fruit,still on the ground,then you looked over to the Gateswhere we saw God’s winged men,now scrambling in a panic.

“What is there outside of this Garden?”

I picked up the Fruitfrom the groundand held it out to you.

“What lies beyondis something that I now feelinside.What is inside this bodyand soulis much more splendidthan what is inside this Garden.”

You put the Fruitup to your mouthand slowly yet fiercelytook a sweetsuppledaringbite.CASUS NOSTER

The bite boomedthroughout the entire Garden;You would have leapt backfrom the shock, had it not beenfor the sweet delectable tastein your (now aching) mouth.

You held the Fruit up to your mouthand looked at me with wondering eyes.

But somehow stillYou were not wonderingbut I could tell that dearlyyou knew:

You knew the bounds of the heartthat I had feltwhen my teeth sank intothat gleaming Flesh;you were able to feel a thingoutside of the boundsof this Garden—a longing known only bymeafter I tasted thatfirm, supple fleshof the Fruit.

Your voice gruntedand mine achedhigherand higheruntil for once I feltmy body tenseand yours heavy with its pushing—warmed in the cusp of daylight.

Then,in a move so unheard of,I grabbed your wristsand pulled you downto the ground,and I climbed upon youto (for once)push.

Your body was still moving,your breath was still heavy.

I had broken youwith my body.

Time passedand our bodies grew limp,strained from that pushing,that lovein the daylightand without command.

We lay on the groundtogether,you held me dearlyin your tired arms.

Our lips met againand againand again.

We knew we were no longeramong the Beasts:we had our pleasuresand they had their command—we evolved beyond commandand simply took our pleasures.

But with those pleasurescame somethinguneasywithin our bodies.

This thing we had never felt—like loveonly much more unsettling.

We looked down at our naked bodies—still soaked with our pleasure’s sweat—and felt unright.You and I scurried overto the nearestthickestbushand hid within its lush leavesuntil we heard that boomingcoming down from above.

BANISHMENT

We looked up and saw the sky above turnedgrey—something neither you nor I had seenin the Garden.

The booming we heard cracked in our earsand left us nearly deaf—the ringing over and over againuntil our ears were left dripping with blood—a redness that you and I had never seeninside this Garden.

I reached for you next to me in the bush,but you had already risenand stepped out into the clearing,unafraid of what form we would seeAdoshem.

I curled up on the ground, my arms grasping my aching belly,my hands gripping my back and my kneespushed up against my breasts—I was rocking;I was weeping.

I looked over to you, saw only your feetstanding uneasily upon the grass—you were silent as I wept.

The thundering continued and you stoodstill; what seems like forever passed on,my eyes had driedand you kept standing.

I aroseslowly—my hands wereshaking—my breath washeavy.

I pursed one arm up against my breastsand the other hand over my nakedness—the wind was cold, as there was no sunwith which to heat the Garden’s thermals.

My skin crawled with each blistering gust.

You stood there, letting the wind entrap your face.

I looked over at you:your hands were placed gently overyour nakedness, your eyes were firm on the darkened sky—your mouth made no movements.

I moved my arm from my breastsand reached over to your hand,which was calmer than mine.

You entangled my fingers within yours,then we both clenched each other’stighteras the sky opened upand a blinding light came beaming down.

We ran back into the bushand hid, peering through to the clearing—still shaking.

Adoshem appeared from the beam—his face was stern,but his voice remained unraised.

“Adam, Eve:Where are you?”

You began to step forwardbut I pushed you back with an uneasy hand.

“We are here, Adoshem.”

He looked me over as you emerged from the bush;His eyes still on me.

“Why were you hiding?”

I could tell that He knew;He just wanted us to admitour shame.

“We were hiding because we are naked, my Lord.”

He looked over at you,now standing next to me.

“How did you know you were naked?”

I looked over at you, covering yourself still—my hands were doing the same on myself—and we both looked down until you lifted your headto Adoshem.

“My Lord . . . ”

“I know what you have done.”

We both fell to our kneesand began to weep bitterly.

Our mouths inhaled the grassas our breath pushed harshly from our chests;our fingered curled around the earthin our last attempt to stay a partof this Garden.

You lifted your eyes back up to Adoshem.

“The Serpent—he was here and he spoke . . . ”

His voice raised and boomed over the Garden;the leaves shook on the trees and the birdstook to the sky in fright.

“The Serpent is none of you concern!He has been dealt with—he is now the lowest of all of the beastsas I have forced him to crawl on his bellyfor all of time.

“But you, my Creations,have failed me!I gave you all in this Gardenand all of the pleasures that you could take inwhile asking only one thing from you—and you failed me!”

I arose quickly as you stayed on the ground,weeping;I ran up to Adoshemand looked at Him in his deepentrancing eyes—He reminded me of the Serpent,only I feared Him more.

“My Lord,think not Adam responsible for this,for I tempted him—I am the one who gave him the Fruitand I am the one who first fellto the Serpent’s advances.

“I am the one who fell.”

“You both fell!”

His words burned my face harshly.

“You both disobeyed me,you both betrayed me,and you both let your temptationsrule over your reason;for this, I must banish youfrom the Garden.”

You looked up at me next to Adoshemand I looked back at youas our eyes watered again.

This place—our home—gone from our grasps.

Our bodies would never again feelthe grass belowand our throats would never again be quenchedby the cooling rivers which flow softlyin the Garden.

Adoshem looked over to the gatesand they opened,showing us the bleakness of lifeoutside of our sheltering walls.

God’s voice calmed itself againbut remained firm.

“Go.”

So you rose, still sobbingand came up to me.

We bowed our heads to Adoshemthen began theslowgruelingtrektoward the gate.

As we walked side by sideyou reached overand grabbed my hand.

The angels guarding the gate shook their heads in shame.

Our hands remained locked in one another’suntil the gate closed behind us.

MUNDUS NOSTERex poeta

Look at this world—our world—to what our Begetters madeall those years ago:

The lushness of the green that they knewso very wellhas been replaced by dryness—grey, brown, black—and the air they breathed so crisplyhas been tainted with smog and thickblinding smoke—our eyes can only take so muchof the hazebefore they close for all time.

Upon their Fall Adoshem took His fistand struck the Garden down,for if His creations could notno one could;the walls crumbled and the Gate collapsedinto the ground, causing dust to burst in the airblocking Man’s sights.

We only know what they have told usof the Gardenand the Fall—only what they wish for us to learnabout obeying.

Still, this poet sings of disorderin the name of love:

Take away the dire shifting of lovefrom Mother Eve—her Fall the embodimentof a bond to Adam, more alive than any bondto Adoshem, than any bond to a Garden(now ruined).

Though they write her as weak,but she was the strongest of all:

She led us out of a tawdry placewhere pleasures of the eye and lips reinedover feelings, emotion,and love;

She grabbed our wrists and led us to something beyond divine—something with a greater force thanany of the horrid thingswe have made since.

Look now:the reason for the Fall has been lostand we will Fall again—how God can rip them from their homebut keep us here with our greatest disobedienceterrifies this poet;what will He do to our soulswhen He has them in His graspafter our demise?

Look now:see the visions of Mother Evelost as so many other Fruits sproutedfrom so many other Trees—each one a little temptingto pluck and sink our teethinto them;

We cannot taste what sweetnesslies within these Temptations—for there is none to be had.

Look now:look at what causes our Falls,what will cause our Banishments from any Garden,any Heaven found somewhere on this Earthor beyond:

Greed.Lust.Envy.Wrath.Sloth.Gluttony.Vanity.

Seven: beyond seven.

These Falls are nothingin the eyes of the Begetters—they left hand-in-handbut we just crush the bones of otherswith our clenching fists.

Look at what we have made ourselves.

Look at what our world has become.

Look at how we let it fall.

Look:now remember Eveand the means of her Fall—love.

Earth itself was an Edenwhen she and Adam had their love.

We took the Earth from them in timeand tore their pleasures from themwith every future passingof the Human name.

We have no riverside by which to lay.

We have no brush in which to hide.

We can see our sins.

God can see our sins.

Adam and Eve can see our sinsin their perches aboveand (strangely) I can hear them weep:“How did they Fall?”

Dear Man, we have Fallenbut not upon the bed of sweetness that they did.

Let us riseagain;let us makethis Earth an Eden;let us makeour Mother and Father seethat their Fall was not in veinbut in love.

Let us rise up againso that we may Fall.

FINIS.

GRATIAS

I would like to thank those who aided me in this effort:

To L. Hernandez, for encouraging me to write a work of fiction.To Professor Trevor, for introducing me to half of the story.To Professor Koch, for teaching me more of that half of the story.To L. Watkins, for putting that half of the story into context.To S. Linwick, for challenging that half of the story.

Finally,To J. Milton, for only telling half of the storyand leaving this poetwith the most lovely partfor telling.

A poem is not a means of presenting a solution to the problems with Humanity; a poem is only a manner of presenting an image, moment, or emotion that may or may not present a problem. We are not politicians; we are only messengers on behalf of the Self, which may or may not be embedded in the Collective.

* * * * *

The only concern a poet must have in his or her personal connection with their verse is the modification of the Saying—a poet in his or her own right cannot change what to say, only the manner in which to say it. The markings of a red pen can only change the means of Expression—not the Expression itself.

From “The Duality of Being”

The ideal condition of the Collective, of course, is to meld itself in such a manner to allow the Individual to Be—to allow for the satisfaction of those basic primal Needs to let the Individual become a true Self without concern for simply Living—only for Being.

your eyes can no longer take on the worldlike pomegranates dangling, ready to fallfrom a twisted branch; they are not filledwith coriander seeds and knowledgebut are instead teaming with wine glasses—crystal, smudged with oily fingerprintsand cigarette ashes from the night before;they are onion bulbs who leave those around themin tears; they are scissors snipping little hairs from my headbit by bit: each blink is a crunch of an acornsewn into my torso—every lash a licorice whip,leaving my mouth red and thick with sugar—

“I wish people watching was as socially acceptable here as it is in Europe,” she said.

I rolled over from the blanket upon the grass and squinted from the sudden brightness of the sun. “What do you mean?”

She sat up on her elbows and flipped her hair. She tilted her sunglasses down so that I could see her deep brown eyes, darker than the patches of soil exposed in the grass. “People in Europe think people-watching is normal. They do it all the time. But here, people think you’re weird for staring at them. I’m not really staring at them, I’m just trying to get to know them from afar.”

“It’s like you’re trying to learn their story without really knowing anything about them?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She flipped over on her back, exposing her soft body on her homemade violet blanket. “Like, those people over there.”

She pointed her pale, slightly sun burnt hand toward a young couple about twenty meters ahead of us, a tall, lanky white man and a shorter, thin Asian girl. They were sitting back to back, supporting each other with a blanket underneath them, each enthralled in their own textbook. They spoke no words or turned to look at each other.

I turned my neck discreetly, as to not expose the fact that I was spying on the young couple from afar. “You mean them?”

“Yeah,” she said with a high inflection in her voice. “I mean, are they friends? Are they lovers? Are they former lovers who are now friends? Are they friends who want to be lovers?”

I chuckled under my breath. “Hell if I know.”

“Exactly!” She shot straight up. She was now sitting face to face with me, her hands resting in her crossed legs covered by her flowing yellow skirt. “We may never know. All we know is what we can learn from them, and what we learn from them, we take and make up something in our heads! That’s totally fine in Europe! But in America, people think you’re a creep for trying to figure our their story.”

“Not to mention staring at them for long periods of time.”

“Well, I’m not staring to stare. I’m staring to figure out their story.”

I laughed subtly. “What do you think people think our story is?”

She placed herself facedown upon the blanket again. “What do you want it to be?”

I was shocked by the question, then realized that it was totally appropriate for the circumstance.

We had met not two hours before, and thus had yet to create our story.

* * * * *

The day began earlier than usual on that Saturday afternoon. The sun beamed through my window, warming that empty spot on my all-too-large bed. The beams warmed my skin slightly, and the light kept past my eyelids, which I was forcibly keeping closed.

“It’s too early to be awake on a Saturday,” I mumbled to myself. I found myself talking to no one in particular in those days. I would come home from work to my empty apartment, make dinner, read a little, do some writing, go out for a quiet cup of coffee, if I was so daring. Not saying much of a word to anyone else. The silence drove me crazy, so I began to strike up conversations with the only person around – Myself.

I looked over at my alarm clock perched upon my dresser: 9:14. “This is too damn early. Normal people sleep in ‘til noon on Saturday.” My body was used to being up around 7:30 every morning for work at Lamphard Publishing Company. It was not what I thought it would be: Authors patrolling the halls, poets diligently editing their masterpieces in desks, all of that. As a Junior Editor for this miniscule company, I was lucky if a menu from a Thai restaurant came across my desk for editing. That was partially why I wanted to stay in bed.

I tried to force my eyes closed again, but to no avail. I finally threw my covers off of my bed and muttered an expletive or two under my breath. I grabbed a fresh pair of boxers from a dwindling drawer (I skipped my last laundry day for the sake of breaking monotony, and now it was coming back in the form of having almost no clean underwear) and hopped in the shower. After a battle with the showerhead to give me a good, hard shower, I hopped out, brushed my teeth and neglected to shave, as I was not going anywhere or doing anything exciting enough to look my best.

I decided to treat myself by making a mushroom and Swiss omelet. I usually skipped breakfast, but I decided to break the monotony again by indulging myself. Still in my boxers, I walked to my tiny kitchen, nothing to be exuberant about. I pulled out everything I needed: A pan, a fork, spatula, bowl, salt, a can of mushrooms. All I needed was eggs, butter, and cheese. I walked to the refrigerator, opened the door, and began to curse loudly at the sight.

“Dammit! Where the fuck did all my eggs go?”

Not remembering that I had boiled all of the eggs I had to take to work for lunch, I began to search my refrigerator frantically, but found nothing. After debating whether or not it was worth it to go out and buy some more eggs, I decided it was because I now had the brilliant idea of boiling the leftovers and taking them to work for lunch.

I ran into my bedroom and threw on a pair of jeans and a black sweater, and capped it off with a pair of black flip-flops. It looked rather warm, but the wind was something of a concern. I ran outside.

The sun was bright, or perhaps my eyes had yet to adjust to the light. I immediately realized that I had forgotten my sunglasses. The start of another amazing day in the city.

the helicopters shine spotlights on a farmhouseand the neighbors stay in their homeswhile television screens blare in the background—the mother says to turn it to channel six.

across town my nephews sit and watch TVand sing along to whatever Dora says:Vamanos! let's go, my boys and see the land where you were born!—i thank God you know nothing outside of those wood-panel walls.

the guns unblaring—the photos of Jesus and Washingtonhang side-by-side next to a deer head,there's a light that hangs from the ceilingswining back and forth—tugging on loose tilesand morphing shadows small-to-tall;men in black armor storm the placewhile a little boy hides in his bedroomclutching a .22.

my mother and father go out for pintsof ice cream—my mother clutches her spoonas my father storms the carton.

i, like Hughes, found a history by a river—this one flows below the South, where my grandfatherbuilt an invible bridge to cross—he built an adobe hutbut the sun's rays on the desert sandwere too hot on my feet;i fled Northhoping to shed the sun from my skinbefore i picked up my pento write my name.

hand-in-hand we will let our blood mixat our fingertips, your bruises from my boney shoulderswill be nothing compared to the scars that hide underthe crimson pools, brighter than the horizonbehind the grey and mist in the sky today.

TWO

i knew your plan, i knew it all along(give me some credit):part of me hoped to keep you talking because speakingmeans aliveness—despite what my mother thinksno one can speak from beyond the graveand i feel like i at least deserve some final words.

THREE

i probably could have gotten a poem or twofrom your scheme, really—maybe a screenplay because Hollywood eats this stuff up—but then where would i get my other fourteenthousand poemsfor the rest of my life?twenty-one is too young for a magnum opus(perhaps i should have told you that).

FOUR

thou dost creep over all thou may'st be

remember that?—that poem sitting in your drawerin 9-point Times New Roman (because i know how muchyou like to save paper)?that is not my blank note, in fact i like to thinkit's rather full—

maybe if my poems were clearer they could help.

FIVE

you just bought me this lovely watchand i would hate to see it stained redover its darling silver;

but if that's what it takes then i'll burry it like Richard's wife's cross.

SIX

i imagined ripping the death from your handand puilling it over myself—just to see your faceso that you would know what it does.